Текст песни Динайс - В поисках счастья

Can run away from myself enough? - nauseous
Watch the news box, delve into the past.
Poking a hole at the junction of segments of mental
Another of the numbers among those listed above.
I know what's there - behind the glass of your glasses
What are the thoughts under the dune of the pressed bulls.
How true is it that everything is so fucked up
Is it true that a ticket with an unbeatable date is in your pocket?
There would have been paradise ... Yes, there’s nothing to compare with.
In your scooter, the wheels are not so eternal
How long is the hitchhiking and soiled soles,
Not as eternal as the roadside horizon.
Exchange of concepts and traditions for hand luggage,
The backdrop for the new Ava is a hackneyed landscape.
Do you think the house is where the feet are warm? Wait
Home is the place where you can be yourself.

On sheets torn from books
Time draws routes tearfully
This is the lost paradise
Where it is too late to return.

On sheets torn from books
Time draws routes falsely
It's hard to stay, I know myself
Lost is not so much difficult.

In search of happiness on a one-way highway
Through the oceans breaststroke or with sunken gas
Either walk miles without eating dust
Either raise your sail, or go under the keel.
In search of happiness so as not to stay
A lonely old man among an indifferent mass
To fight for happiness, hands to blood, to fight painfully
Only he repents who is not afraid to stumble.
And only with faith behind the back is always a fair wind
Only a strong spirit can break any prohibition
Only with free thoughts hands will remain free
There is a plus in flour - the desire to step over the pain.
Continuing your path ... in search of happiness
Without wardrobe masks and markings on the wrists
Weighing options and people close to you - remember
Shatka scales - do not drop the excess.
In search of happiness - whoever is not a shooter is at gunpoint
In search of myself - actually remain myself -
One of the main rules, do not miss your chance.
In search of happiness - the road - the house, time - the advance.

On sheets torn from books
Time draws routes tearfully
This is the lost paradise
Where it is too late to return.

On sheets torn from books
Time draws routes falsely
It's hard to stay, I know myself
Lost is not so much difficult.

This is the lost paradise
Where it is too late to return.
It's hard to stay, I know myself
Lost is not so much difficult.